I work with a couple of single women and we often talk of the trials and tribulations of the single woman. It came up at work again just last week, and I told them about my rule... and it made me laugh and I thought I would share it share it on my blog...
Last year (pre Malcolm) I was wondering just what this 'dating game' was all about. Single at the age of 38, I was wondering how I was meant to meet a man. It seems everyone had advice, though the best advice I got, was from a long time friend who said if I wanted to meet someone I had to advertise. Now she didn't mean the personals (though this wasn't off the list of possibilities) no, what she meant was, if I wanted to meet someone, I had to get 'out there'. The best way to do that was to tell all your friends and family you wanted to meet someone, and let them know what you were (or were not) looking for. Network basically. Sounds simple yeah?
Well, I did as she advised and told all my family and friends to set me up with any eligible (and suitable) men and added my only criteria. 1. He had to be taller than me, and 2. No alcoholics. It seemed a pretty fair and reasonable request.
I decided I had to keep an open mind, and was going to be more successful with fewer restrictions. Regardless of an open mind however, I had a rule. Three strikes and you're out... This could fit any form, but it allowed for a few minor hiccups. And so, having made my announcement, friends and family came through with the 'goods' (or should I say, the goods, the bads and the uglies!)
This is how my first blind date went last year...
24th May 2006
And so it has come to this...
A friend from work says "I have found you a blind date and he's perfect for you"
Another "Keep your expectations low and you won't be disappointed"
And another "You have nothing to lose"
My friend was excited. Convinced. She had found me my 'perfect man'. So I called him. We talked briefly and it was decided. Or rather, what was decided was it was all up to me - where to meet, what to do...
And so with a major case of the nerves, I finally decided and it was arranged. I arrived, on a cold Saturday morning at Max Brenners (chocolate cafe extrodinaire) at QV in the city, and I waited. I was early. Just. I hate being late. I don't like having to wait and I hate making others wait for me. So, I grabbed a seat and I waited.
My fingers tapped. Late late late. Not good. Being late was definitely strike one.
This was a blind date, a meeting had been arranged and it is rude enough not to be on time. It was ruder still not to call until after the arranged meeting time. 5 minutes after we were meant to meet he called, and he arrived 20 minutes later.
Honestly. I understand nerves. Even the clammy palms. Really I do. (Let's face it, he had sat on a tram for 30 minutes and given himself time to think). I did understand. I was nervous too.
He was late. His palms were sweaty. I bought the drinks and that was only Strike 1.
Funnily enough, the 'date' went reasonably well. Given we didn't know each other and the situation was foreign to us both. He was nice. Yes NICE. Conversation was easy and we chatted and drank and wandered and talked. And at the end we both agreed it would be NICE to catch up again. Sometime.
"So" I can hear you saying "he was obviously nice, and the date went well and that's only one strike. And you agreed to meet again. So, what's the problem?"
Oh yeah - there's more.
His email address was written down and (after trying a number of combinations) I finally got through. It was 2 days before a reply. Busy over Easter, he suggests we catch up the week-end after. Sounds good. I replied via SMS. Later, when I received no reply, I sent an email. It rebounded. Twice "Email account full". Aye aye aye!
And so the week-end approached and I heard nothing and so, after a frantic week at work, and thinking maybe he didn't get my SMS, I got home at 6.30 on the Saturday night and I decided to call him.
"Not a good time" he says. He was about to go out ... and ... here comes strike 2 ... "It was arranged before I got your SMS"
Oh. He did get my SMS, but sent no reply. Hmmm. Not good.
"Can I call you tomorrow?" he asks. "Sure" I say.
And very quickly here comes strike 3. Are you ready?
I know it's gripping stuff...
Sunday. No call as arranged.
... and there you have it strike 3 and you're out.